Jumping the Flying Shark
by folliesandfictions
Summary: The date is October 13th, 2008, and the expected complaints are finally rolling in. Meanwhile, Dean Winchester has just discovered some very disconcerting news - he's still alive.


[AN: So, this worked about a million times better in my head. Unfortunately it decided it wanted to be written down; I really don't think I've done it justice, but I like the idea so I might revisit it some time.]

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><p><em>Asked sweet mama, let me be her kid….<em>

The distorted, tinny vocals blaring from the small speaker were hardly unexpected; even as he picked up the phone he knew whose name would be displayed on the screen. It had been three weeks since the episode had aired and he had been clinging onto some vague, desperate hope that they hadn't seen it, but in his heart he had always known that they would find out eventually. _And now the fallout._ With a sigh, he flipped open the handset and held it to his ear.

"Hey, De-"

"Angels? _Angels_?" The voice was loud, and it was angry. Very angry. "No way, Eric. That is not happening."

"Nice to speak to you, too. How's your brother?"

"Stop changing the subject!" The jump in volume was enough to make the man at the other end flinch away from the receiver in pain.

"Technically speaking, it was just one angel."

"Oh, well _that's_ just peachy, then." The sarcasm dripping from Dean's voice threatened to leak through the speaker and run down Eric's arm in thick, tarry globules, but he pressed on. He knew from experience just how thick-headed the Winchesters could be; making Dean understand was only half the battle.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know the network was going to pick up for a fourth season; I had to give them _something_!"

"Yeah, but _angels_? C'mon, man."

"Look at it this way: the less plausible we make the shows storylines, the less likely it is that people will work out who you guys are."

Dean snorted. "Snowball's choice of that happening with those pretty-boys you got. I mean, do people _really_ think that after all the crap we've had to go through we'd come out looking like friggin' Gap models?"

It was Eric's turn to snort, though there was far more humour in his laugh than in that of the man at the other end of the line. He had a point; it seemed that every time Eric met the Winchesters they were sporting new scars or bruises or broken bones, the causes of which he had given up asking after. The idea of the Sam and Dean he knew – the real ones – being plastered on the walls of teenage girls everywhere was such an insanely implausible idea that he found himself having to bite down the laughter that was threatening to burst out of him. Shaking his head, he tuned back into what Dean was saying.

"… Just what is with this guy, anyway? The voice and the hair and the _staring_ – seriously, can he even blink? I just wanna punch the freak."

"Yeah, about that… You might wanna stay away from the message boards."

"Stay away from the message boards? What the hell is that supposed to mean? No, Sam" – his voice dipped as though he had turned away from the microphone – "don't load up the damn message boards. I mean it. What are you laughing at?"

Eric chuckled wryly. It took very little effort to imagine the scene occurring on the other end – partly because that was his job, and partly because of the fact that if there was one thing Jared had managed to hit spot on, it was the younger Winchester's smirk when he had gotten one over on his older brother.

It was a few minutes before Dean came back to the phone. "… I think I need eye bleach. That- that's just sick."

"We could burn 'em out if you like. Cas is pretty good at that."

"Hey, how about you shut the hell up? We have guns and we _will_ find you."

"I like that. You mind if I use it?"

"Bite me. I swear though, if that Jason guy-"

"Jensen."

"Huh?"

"He's called Jensen. The guy's been playing you for the last three and a half years, least you could do is remember his name."

"Whatever. What's up with the names on your show? Point is, if he doesn't smack the guy then I will come up there and do it myself. It's bad enough that you got me killed off, but now you have me getting brought back by some puppy-eyed banker guy?"

Eric sighed. They had been through this more times than he could remember. "Dean, we agreed that this would be the best way to throw them off your trail. I had no idea how popular it was going to get, okay? Without the visions it's kinda hard to come up with this stuff."

"But seriously? An angel? In a trench coat?"

Dean was growing tiresome, but Eric fought to keep his voice level and calm. He knew from experience that pissing off the Winchesters was not a good option. "You done?"

"Sorry man, I just don't get it."

"Yeah, well that's just the way it is. You're gonna have to get used to it."

There was a moment's silence, but a sigh from his phone told Eric that he had won this particular battle – a victory in itself. "Fine. Just as long as there aren't any other angels planning on sticking their heads up out of the woodwork."

The line remained silent.

"Kripke?"

_BEEP._


End file.
